In this coigne of vantage it turns out that David Lockwin eventually comes to know the family life at the mansion. The servants at the Wandrell home have long stood behind the prescription counter while their orders were in course of serving.
The confinement of the business--the eternal hours of vigil--these matters feed the hungry love of the husband.
"Without this I should have died," he vows. The months go by without event.
Corkey has been the earliest caller. "Saw your sign," he says; "recollected the name. Been in New York all the time? I say, old man, want a pardner? I got a clean thousand cases in gold to put in."
The druggist has difficulty in withstanding Corkey's offers of capital. Corkey is struck with the idea of business. He has taken a strong fancy to Chalmers. Day by day the two men grow more intimate.
"Thought I'd never see you again, old man. I suppose I ought to start a saloon, but somehow I hate to do it, now I know some good people. Bet your life I'm solid over there!"
He points with his thumb toward Prairie avenue.
"I'm a good friend of the richest woman, I guess, there is in the world!" His tongue pops like a champagne cork. "I don't like to keep no saloon."
"I shall sell as little liquor as possible," the druggist says, conceiving the drift of Corkey's ideas.
"Pardner, you must have been a hard drinker yourself. How did your voice get so husky?"